


Percolations Under The Pendulum Sun

by intothecest



Category: Folgers "Home for the Holidays" Commercial, Under The Pendulum Sun - Jeannette Ng
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Brother/Sister Incest, Christmas, Coffee, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Incest, Inspired by Folgers "Home for the Holidays" Commercial, Mash-up, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothecest/pseuds/intothecest
Summary: The last time Catherine saw her brother on Christmas, he was visiting from his Peace Corps mission... in Arcadia, the faelands.  Now, years later, she's decided to come visit him, and bringing his favorite coffee... but Arcadia has coffee, too.
Relationships: Brother/Sister (Folgers Commercial), Catherine Helstone/Laon Helstone
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Percolations Under The Pendulum Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I probably should warn that this story, in abbreviated form and in a modern AU context, goes through much of the same character arc and plot beats (including some of the surprise revelations and specific plot points such) as the novel _Under the Pendulum Sun_ and though some things are significantly different as well, this story would probably spoil many surprises from the novel. Which is excellent and you should check out ideally without spoilers.

Catherine Helstone hopped to the window as soon as she heard the car pull up. Amidst the winter wonderland outside, the yellow taxi stood out, but even more so the tall man headed up the walk hefting an oversized backpack. Her face brightened immediately as she confirmed it was her brother Laon, and raced to the door before he could knock on it.  
When she whipped it open, his surprise gave way to the briefest of smiles followed by an exaggerated confusion as his eyes darted around the doorframe, looking for something. "I must have the wrong house."

She grinned automatically, getting the thrust of his joke, seeing the humor though it didn't feel particularly funny for him to pretend not to know her. It felt like it had been forever since she'd seen him, and since he'd seen her, and of the two, she probably changed more in the time apart, but it wasn't like she was unrecognizable. Time could get weird in the land of the pendulum sun, she heard, and the joke landed too close to her secret fear that he'd come back after subjective centuries and forget who she was. But it was Laon, so she played along, much like she always had when they were kids and had some game involving creating new magical lands with action figures and army men. Catherine gestured to herself half-heartedly and said, as though reminding him, "Sister?" _Don't keep up the cruel game,_ she thought... _it's not as though I'm some changeling._

Thankfully, he grinned pleasantly back, and leaned forward, and she couldn't wait anymore, she launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around him, thankful that he'd dropped the pack so she could hold him as tightly as she wanted... well, maybe not _quite_ as tightly, the khaki winter jacket and layers underneath seemed a bit too much, but at least she could feel his arms encircling her again. After so long, it was like a part of herself that was missing had suddenly returned and she was whole again. She had taken to wearing one of his old shirts, just to have some echo of him near her... she was wearing it now, over her pajama bottoms. She hadn't meant to, it had just become so ingrained a habit that she hadn't thought about it, or spared more than a passing thought that, now that she had the real thing again, it was redundant.

"Oh! I’ve missed you so _much_ ," she said, and then worried, for he didn't respond, at least not in words, though she imagined she felt an extra tight squeeze before he suddenly released, and shivered as though a sudden burst of chilly wind had hit him. 

She led him inside. "Dad waited up all night for you, you know." Not _all_ night, but past midnight before he gave up. It was Catherine who'd _actually_ waited up all night, knowing he was coming home and unable to sleep with her anticipation of him ringing the doorbell or even the soft jangle of his keys outside, lying awake in bed alert for every sound until finally light broke and she had an excuse to go downstairs with a good view of the front window. And now, she wasn't even tired, in her excitement to see him the weariness had all vanished under the joy, like it being tired was just a game she'd been playing to pass the time. 

"It's a long way from Arcadia," Laon said simply. "The trip's not exactly... predictable. And that's just getting _out_ of Faerieland... then you have to deal with international flights, and that's a whole different hell." 

"What's it like there? Arcadia? I mean, I know you've sent letters, but... not enough. And it's hard to get a real sense of it without video." Video didn't work in Arcadia, and only certain types of photographs. "They really have a sun on a pendulum? It's not just like a metaphor?"

"They really do," he said. "And a fish moon, and many other wondrous things. There is true magic there."

"Do they really need the Peace Corps then?" She didn't mean it to come out like that, like she was saying he was useless. What she really wanted to say was, _"Can't you come home to stay?"_

"Magic has its limits, you know. They're not well-understood, but they're there. It's good work, noble work... for all that they're unusual, the faerie folk are still _people_ , and the US invasion... police action... really set their infrastructure back. They just need a little help getting it back together. And there's education work to be done with the faerie children... not to mention my work with the changelings." Paranoia about 'faerie infiltrators' and 'sleeper cells'--not entirely unjustified paranoia, given changelings really existed--caused some countries to test their children and expel any who revealed Faerie traits. It hadn't gotten past the proposal stage here, but many displaced orphans wound up back in Arcadia having grown up with television and phones and having no idea how to react to a world where those just didn't exist. Catherine could hardly imagine that kind of life.  
They moved into the kitchen and Laon's eyes lit up at the red plastic container on the counter beside the half-full coffee machine, bending down to it eyes half-closed as though in prayer. "Ahh! Coffee."

"Arcadia doesn't have coffee?"

"Not _real_ coffee, like this." And Catherine smirked, for she knew many who would scoff at the claim that instant coffee was in any sense ' _real coffee._ ' But her brother loved Folgers. "Their own beans are... very different. And we get stuff imported in, supply drops we call them, but, well, not this brand and... it's not the same. The salt."  
Of course. The salt. _Human salt from human lands._ She remembered the jingle from the _Magic Schoolbus_ episode where they went to Arcadia... or maybe it was another edutainment show warning the kids about accepting food from faeries, just in case they ever met one. Some thought it paranoid, and maybe it was, but in Arcadia, it was vital. Every meal, every drink, needed salt added before consumption, or you might doom yourself. She could hardly forget that rule, it was another of her biggest fears, that Laon would slip, just once. You couldn't even trust prepackaged and sealed coffee packets that claimed to have it already inside, because it could have been switched along the way, and, people now thought, given enough time, human food in the faelands _became_ faerie food, naturally... but salt, being a mineral stayed the same as long as it was in isolation. Thousands of soldiers, mostly American, had been careless with salt, disdaining superstition until they found themselves forever unable to leave the lands of the Faerie, and Catherine had lost plenty of sleep that Laon would, for all his good intentions, never be able to return to her, like he _promised_ to do when he left. If that was the case, she would track him down, go to Arcadia, like she planned to do eventually anyway if he didn't return, and, if that's what it took, eat some unsalted bread and doom herself like him. How bad could life there be if he chose it now?  
Luckily, that extreme decision was unnecessary... her brother was very careful. And, for a little while at least, he was home. She hopped up on the kitchen counter while he prepared a fresh pot, and as the rich, earthy, familiar scent of brewing coffee started to fill the house, he told her stories of some of the wondrous sights in Arcadia, like the sea whale. And she hung on his every word, because her own life seemed so mundane by comparison... and yet, she was happy, for the moment... all of that wonder that she craved for so long seemed a pale shadow compared to Laon actually, finally, being home in front of her. She knew the feeling would fade, but for now, she didn't even want to look away for fear that when she looked back, he'd be gone again, his return turning out to be another unsatisfying dream. 

As he poured his first cup, he looked into Catherine's eyes, a hint of nervous excitement maybe, about to say something. "I brought you something, from far away."

Her smile widened, "Really? Oh..." And then she felt silly, for not having anything better to say. Laon turned back to the table where he dumped some of his stuff, and came back with a small, wrapped package with a scarlet bow on it. "From Arcadia?" She remembered Faerie cities Laon had mentioned, Pivot, Sesame, Cinnamon... maybe Faraway was one of these. 

He paused just as he was about to take a first sip of coffee. "Not quite. You should _always_ be wary of gifts from Arcadia, Cathy," he warned, his face grave for just a moment before it brightened again. "But _this,_ I picked up on the way back. I think you'll like it."

She looked down on it, a little disappointed, not because she wanted a present from Arcadia, but because some mundane gift from some airport gift shop didn't seem as special, and, above all, she wanted a moment like this to be special. 

But then, she decided, she didn't have to wait on Laon. As he brought the coffee mug to his lips with both hands, Catherine impulsively ripped the scarlet bow off the top of the box and slapped it on his shoulder, sticking to his grey sweatshirt by the still tacky adhesive tape. Laon grinned, gave a confused little laugh, and reached for the bow, not to remove it, but just to touch the edges. "What are you doing?"

It was the first thing that came to mind. " _You’re_ my present this year," she said, knowing it probably sounded unbelievably corny, but it was also heartfelt. 

He didn't respond, at least not in words, but he smiled, and then looked into her eyes, and she looked back, both at some kind of loss for words now. The moment would have stretched to the awkward were they not smiling, and maybe was headed there anyway, there was something in his gaze, like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words, and she didn't want to say anything else so she could give him that chance.

That was when their father, presumably woken by the smell of coffee, came into the kitchen in his robe. Catherine and Laon's intense gaze finally broke, both of them instinctively looking down and away, and Catherine felt embarrassed again for no reason she could quite put her finger on, but her brother turned away from her and didn't have to see it. Dad gave Laon a hug to welcome him back, and Catherine resented him, a little, for interrupting their private time, but at the same time understood. Dad missed Laon too.  
Of course, despite that, he pulled away as though embarrassed himself after the hug, and sought an escape from looking his son in the eyes. Catherine wondered if that was where they got it from, that automatic embarrassment and changing the subject whenever either of them was especially affectionate... it was stupid, especially considering how much she loved, craved the affection, and it was normal, wasn't it? Certainly as normal as a father hugging a son he hadn't seen in months. But Dad had never been good with affection, and worse since Mom passed away. His method of escape from emotional intimacy this time was to turn to the coffee pot and quote television for something to say. "Ah, the best part of waking up," he said, "is Folgers in your cup."

Dad pouring his cup, and that, along with watching Laon sip from his, made Catherine want one too, but she knew better than to ask. Even though she was basically an adult, even though Laon had been drinking openly coffee since he was younger than she was then, Dad didn't approve. He was old-fashioned in a lot of ways, but then, he was a minister, so that was to be expected. Laon always snuck her sips out of his, or made her a full cup when dad was out, but he couldn't try that in front of him, so she was left to just lick the inner edge of her lips and nervously toss the wrapped box Laon had handed her.

That, she realized, may have been a mistake, for it was noticed. "What's _that_?" Dad asked.

"Christmas present," Laon told him. "For Cathy." 

He looked at it again with alarm, started to make the sign of the cross. "Not one of those _fae_ devices?"

"No!" Laon said immediately. "I wouldn't do that. I got it in a stopover in London. I took nothing from there that I did not bring with me. I mean, customs was pretty strict about that anyway. I practically got strip-searched just to make sure I wasn't bringing any food back." 

Dad nodded, satisfied with his son's honesty, and, while Catherine was picturing that scene with amusement, her father pulled the gift from her hands before she knew what was happening. "I'll put this under the tree, then"

Despite her declaration that Laon was her real present, she desperately wanted it, and begged to be allowed to open it early, but her father, as usual, was inflexible on the issue, and so she had to live with the mystery until Christmas morning, when she and Laon snuck down before Dad woke up. They _had_ to wait until Christmas morning, but only _just_... Dad had given up the fight of keeping curious kids out of presents until everybody had woken up long ago, when Mom was still alive, and as long as Cathy she could remember she and Laon always got up to quietly open a few presents before anyone else was awake, and made a game of it. This year was no exception, and she went for his gift first so she could open the box while she was still alone with her brother. Inside, she found an ornate and very old-looking device that she thought at first was a watch, but turned out to be a compass.

"It's Victorian," he said. "Well, a replica." Of course... as though Laon would spend the money on an actual antique for his little sister. "I know how you love Victorian-stuff. You are still into that, right?"

She nodded... if that interest had faded in their time apart, this was a worthy exception. "I love it." They set cross-legged on the ground by the tree, but now she climbed practically into his lap to give him a hug and a kiss on his cheek. "It's beautiful."

He shuffled, returning the hug, but stiffly and it felt like he was tempted to put his arms around her waist instead and lift her off him. She slid off him and looked at it again from beside him, though closer than before. "It's not just for looks," he said after a moment, pointing at the dial. "It's a real, working compass."

She spun it around, watching the needle move. "Cool."

"It's just..." Laon hesitated, and said, "You know I have to go back to Arcadia, soon."

"You don't _have_ to," she reminded him, but hopelessly.

"I do," he said. "It's _important._ But that's why I wanted you to have _this_. To let you always find your true north." 

She looked down again, feeling warmth rise to his cheeks. _Oh,_ she realized... it was a _symbolic_ gift. It was saying, " _I know we have to be apart for a while, but you can always find me when you need to._ " She felt tears starting to form in her eyes... not from sadness, or at least, mostly nod. She was certainly sad that he felt he needed to go, but at the same time, validated, that this gift symbolized the promise that he'd come back, and if not... if not, she would find him.

***

That was three years ago.

Now, finally, Catherine Helstone had set foot on Arcadia herself. Finally. Two senses of _finally_ , in fact, for not only was the journey to reunite with her brother long overdue, but because of the interminable trip itself, ending in more than a week at sea. At times she almost wished she had taken a plane... even given the commonly understood lore that the only way for a plane to make it to Arcadia was to crash there, she might have preferred it to more than a week at sea, with no contact to the outside world, and the last two days the trip of spent violently ill in her cabin.

But she was here, had not missed Christmas after all, with about a week to spare, and she held around her neck the very compass Laon had given her on the last Christmas they shared. Since then, she'd seen him once, in the flesh, when he came back after their father's sudden death. Not for the funeral, the news traveled too slowly and the trip back too long, but for a private memorial, where despite the time that had passed since either of them heard the news they cried in each other's arms as though it was fresh.

And then, after a few days, he said he had to go back to Arcadia. His time in the Peace Corps was over, but he had just accepted a position with the Christian Human Rights Mission's Arcadia branch. It was the only NGO allowed to remain after the faerie queen Mab decided to exile the rest for some reason the news never seemed to agree on. She'd already had her heart set on that news meaning that he, like most of the volunteers, would be home to stay, and his revelation that he was one of the few exceptions left her thunderstruck and numb, unable to even cry when he told her. She did when he finally said goodbye, but restrained herself so she didn't make him feel guilty. He looked it anyway, and, before disappearing into the gate at the airport, promised he would keep in touch. 

Catherine might have been content with that, if he _had_. Or at least, if he had with more than the occasional letter sent back, letters that were growing more and more infrequent, less detailed. _He was busy,_ she told herself. And though she hurt that she seemingly didn't mean as much to him as he did to her, she had her schooling to complete. Until she didn't, and realized that now there was no one to tell her she couldn't take the trip to Arcadia... well, nobody except the State Department, at least, but she had finally obtained permission for that, too, thanks in part to CHRM's home branch who asked her to return with the notes compiled by Laon's former boss.

The land was not what she expected... from the early letters and few media pictures, she imagined a burned forest, trolls and sprites and other beings cowering in makeshift tents, the survivors of an undeclared war that ended in a supposedly victorious withdrawal and forced peace treaty, _Mission Accomplished_ in the _War on Faerie Terror_. Instead, the port they landed in, Cinnamon, seemed to be a genuine, bustling city, like one somewhere in Europe that combined buildings hundreds of years old with modern touches. She even managed to hail a cab, driven by a strange little man with bulging eyes and gills, and although negotiating the journey and payment was frustrating, she managed with the help of the guidebook she'd been given, to get him to take her outside the city to the Bethlehem House, where her brother both lived and worked. 

The famed pendulum sun hung overhead, visible beneath a cloud cover, it's motion not evident over such short timescales that the eye could see, but she peeked up in fascination at it nonetheless during the journey. It was more of a wonder than the city, and somehow raised less questions, questions she'd tried to avoid but kept pestering her during the ride. _This_ was the troubled, shattered society, so in need of his help that he spent _years_ of his life here, when he could have been home? It had homes and shops and even cars... although there was something distinctly unsettling about _this_ one, now that she'd gotten in it, the engine seemed to whinny like a horse, and the chassis seemed more like bone than metal. She could swear it shivered when the wind gusted particularly strong with a blast of snow. 

Bethlehem House did not look, as she first imagined when she saw the name, like a converted barn, or a small stone structure small enough for one bed attached to the kitchen, perhaps too small to support her visit and force them to have to share the bed. Or, alternately, she thought it might look like a vast castle, remote, empty, gothic. Instead, to her faint disappointment, it seemed rather like a small English country house, two stories, rows of glass windows on each, and potentially able to support multiple guest rooms. While not a castle, it still seemed lavish, bigger than home, but Catherine supposed it had to double some as work offices. The front yard was covered in white, and after paying the cabbie his due she walked up and rang the bell, trying to think of what to say when her brother answered the door to find a surprise visit.

When the door opened, she stammered and said, "I must have the wrong house." Which was one of the things she had considered saying anyway, had Laon greeted her, as a joke, but this was decidedly _not_ Laon, nor was it a butler as she came to believe might be more plausible. Instead, it was a woman, human, young, upturned nose, round chin and soft, brown eyes. She had freckles, too, and she looked almost boyish except that she was wearing only a woman's nightshirt and her legs seemed to be bare right down to her toes. Her light, short-cropped hair was in disarray, as though she'd just gotten out of bed. No servant would open a door dressed like this, no employee come to work like that... she had to _live_ here, and feeling free to go about half-naked, probably not as a guest. She must have gotten off at the wrong house.

"Sister!" the woman said, her eyes widening in recognition, and Catherine's heart sank. "You're Laon's _sister_! I recognize you from his phone's lock-screen. Come in, come in!" She spoke with a merry English accent much like many of the fae folk she'd encountered. 

Catherine allowed herself to be drawn inside, flustered, confused, and feeling sick, sure that she was wandering into a situation she hadn't prepared for, expecting at any moment to see her brother coming downstairs to join this... _woman_ he'd never mentioned, but who apparently felt free to walk practically naked through his house. Maybe he would be half-naked too, the casual dress of two... _lovers_? She bit her lip and winced at the thought word. _How could he never tell me?_

"It's so lovely that you've come for in time for Christmas," this woman said, oblivious to her distress. "Laon gets so mopey around the holidays." Holidays, _plural,_ Catherine noticed. This woman had been in his life through _multiple_ holidays, and he never said. And she was comfortable enough to see his phone lock-screen. Then the stranger's eyes widened. "Coffee!" she said. "Oh, Catherine, thank goodness you're here, we can have _coffee_!"

"I'm sorry," Catherine said coldly, dropping her pack to the ground. There was indeed coffee in there, a whole jug of Folgers, but she'd be _damned_ before she gave any to this secret woman Laon was keeping on the side. "You are?" If she was feeling more charitable, she might have considered what it would mean to her that Laon's sister had no idea who she was, that it might _hurt_ , but at that moment, she was happy to risk hurt.

"Ariel Davenport," the woman said, oblivious to the insult. "Or so some call me. Come, come. I've been craving a coffee all morning." She led the way down the hall into a kitchen, "You probably haven't had Arcadian coffee yet, have you?" Catherine shook her head. "Well, you're not going to have it _today_ , either. I mean, you really should try at _some_ point, _everyone_ should experience faerie coffee at least _once_. But we don't have any right now. We'll just have to go with this." Ariel bent down to find a battered tin of Taster's Choice. Taster's Choice. Laon had always complained that they didn't get the usual brands, but she hadn't thought of which ones. Catherine remembered watching a bunch of commercials online of this brand, with that cute librarian from _Buffy_ in them... the ads told of a romance through shared love of Taster's Choice. Of _course_ it would be Taster's Choice Ariel and Laon bonded over. She was relieved, at least, to notice, when Ariel bent down that under the night shirt, the woman wore a small pair of shorts.

Ariel put on a pot and then gestured for Catherine to sit down. "I don't know when your brother will be back," she said which raised a few new questions. "I'll try to text him, if you like, but I can't guarantee we'll make a good connection."

Catherine began to strip down out of her layers, feeling intolerably warm inside the house with a jacket on. Maybe there was a good reason for Ariel to wear shorts. Then what she'd just said penetrated finally. "I'm sorry... _text_ him?" she asked incredulously. "You have _cell service_ here?" Had he lied again and was, all this time, only a phone call away?

"Of a sort," Ariel said. "It doesn't connect outside of Arcadia. And it's... well, it's weird. It takes some getting used to. Voices and pictures can't really be trusted, text is safer, but even then..." she shrugged. "Sometimes the message gets garbled. Turns to poetry, usually. If you're lucky, it's a limerick, those are usually easy to piece together."

"Where exactly is he?"

"Queen Mab's court. Advocacy. Trying to influence conditions here." She didn't clarify whether _here_ meant Bethlehem House, the nearby town of Cinnamon, or all of Arcadia. "Which of course makes it even less likely a message will get through uncorrupted. But I can try, if you like. Or perhaps we both should, to double our chances. It's not like home, you know, no network compatibility, you don't even need a phone number. Or you do, but you just spell out his name with numbers. You know, 5 for L, 2 for A, and so on. The more precise the name the more likely it gets to him. One moment." She disappeared for a few seconds, leaving Catherine with the sound of percolating coffee and she started to dig out her phone to try it. Ariel came back with hers, a model several years old, and began tapping away at it with practiced familiarity. "Want to try our luck with a picture attachment?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer held up the phone and snapped a pic. And then waited for an alarming few seconds before giggling. "Well I don't suppose you'll want to send _this_ to your brother."

She sidled up to Catherine and showed her the screen. It was not a photograph... instead, it was like a painting, a painting that clearly depicted her, Catherine Helstone... almost Norman Rockwell-style, standing in front of a mid-twentieth century kitchen stove... except completely nude, save for a Christmas-themed apron that didn't actually cover anything that should be hidden. Catherine blushed, feeling it spread from her chest up her face even to the tips of her ears. "What... _how_?"

Ariel shrugged. "Welcome to the Faelands. Now you know why there aren't many photographs of Arcadia, except a few daguerrotypes. Everything else gets... _interpreted_. I can still send this, if you'd like. There's no guarantee Laon will actually receive it like _this_... he's probably quite a distance away and it might well turn into Expressionism by the time it reaches him."

She swallowed and shook her head, trying to imagine her brother's reaction if he got anything like that. "No, thank you." She decided not to compose a message to Laon just yet... if it could do something like that, who knew what kind of missteps she could make. It made autocorrect fails look innocent. Instead, she took one more deep breath she asked the question she wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer to, but needed to know. "And how _exactly_ do you know my brother?"

"I guess you could say we work together," Ariel said, then looked over her shoulder with a coy smile. "We're not currently fucking, if that's what you're wondering. I'm more into women, myself, and I'm a far cry from his dream woman." A knot loosened in Catherine's chest, not all the way, but some. This woman perplexed her, but she no longer seemed like some kind of interloper, a threat to her relationship with her brother and her never-quite-admitted-aloud plan to convince him to leave Arcadia. Maybe Ariel would even like a promotion if Laon left. "I'm sort of a liason..." she held up a finger as the coffee chimed. "Hold that thought." Like she was a barista and her tip depended on fast service, Ariel slammed down two mugs and quickly filled each of them. "You're Laon's sister, so I can't imagine you were ill-prepared enough to come here without salt, right? Laon took most of the house's supply."

"Oh, right, just a second." Catherine reached down into her bag and grabbed the small grinder of block salt she had been getting used to on the voyage. A few turns filled a small reservoir at the bottom with fresh human salt, which came apart for easy sprinkling. She pulled her mug of coffee close and with one hand, tossed a dash of of white into it. After a moment, she slid the grinder over to Ariel.

She looked down at it, then smiled. "Would you mind doing my cup for me?" she asked. Off Catherine's befuddled reaction, since now it would be far easier for Ariel to do it, she added, in a singsong voice, " _Human salt, human hands_." As though that explained it. Catherine stared, not comprehending. " _Mine_ won't do. I probably should have been more clear about this earlier. I'm not _actually_ Ariel Davenport. I'm Ariel Davenport's changeling."

The revelation softened the mood considerably, and soon the two of them were enjoying weirdly salty coffee like new friends. Ariel made _sense,_ now. Laon's mission here, in addition to improving conditions for the locals Faefolk (she still didn't understand _why_ , all of them seemed to be getting along _quite_ comfortably), was to advocate for the expatriate community, stuck in Arcadia due to mishandling the salt rules, and the rights of changelings. Ariel, it turned out, had a foot in both worlds, only discovering her changeling nature while on one of the successful military incursions onto Arcadia during the _War on Fae Terror_. The expatriates had troubles in Arcadia, stranded and rendered vulnerable by Fae food, and governments tried to provide support but they needed someone like Laon, there on the scene and protected by an agreement with Mab, to intercede on their behalf against Fae abuse. Changelings, though? They were not claimed either by humans or fae residents of Arcadia, and, exiles twice over, were even more vulnerable to abuse from those inclined to. An alarming number simply disappeared. This revelation, that she was a liason to this community, turned Ariel from a potential secret girlfriend of Laon's to a co-worker, and more than that, a source of insight into her brother's life here... even if she could be frustratingly evasive. Apparently something had given Laon a crisis of faith here, one that he was working through, and Ariel seemed to think that partly explained why his letters had gotten infrequent, but she refused to disclose what it was, and Catherine was unwilling to pry when she could instead mine for better stories about her brother and learn first hand what it was like to be a changeling. Ariel seemed in some ways emotionally distant and flippant and yet deep and mournful of the life she'd lost, the life she'd actually stolen without realizing it, and it seemed like more than anything she wanted someone to talk to. _Perhaps,_ Cathy thought, _that was why she was drawn to Laon_. He always was a good listener. 

In the middle of their second cup (which Catherine had to agree was not as good as Folger's, although the salt might have been a factor there), Ariel called in and introduced Catherine to the groundskeeper, Mr. Benjamin, an earth golem who was dressed as a diminutive Santa, or perhaps one of his elves. The kindly little man was friendly and genuinely seemed to idolize Catherine's brother and, based solely on Catherine's relation to him, offered his assistance in any thing she needed, of which she only asked for a promise to immediately inform them if Laon returned, a promise he gave with all the solemnity of a swearing a medieval oath. She imagined that Laon must have done some good for him to inspire that kind of loyalty and was incredibly proud of him... she missed him so much, of course, but knowing he truly was here, actually helping people... the noble reasons helped make their separation easier. 

Mr. Benjamin's vow turned out to be fulfilled in an unexpected way, as the pot of coffee had just gone dry and Catherine's phone buzzed. It was still her habit to check it immediately, and when she did, she gasped. Mr. Benjamin had sent two text messages, and whatever he initially typed, they read "Yonder comes my master, your brother," followed by "Embrace thy brother there; rejoice with him." That wasn't what inspired the gasp, though... he'd gone one step further and sent a picture as well. And she only looked at it for a second before realizing two things. First that, though still a interpreted painting of whatever Benjamin saw as Laon walked up the steps, it was almost photorealitsic, looking exactly like the brother she hadn't seen in the flesh in years... the other thing she quickly realized was that the image was, if possible, even _lewder_ than the one Ariel had taken of her, with far too much flesh on display.

She blanked her screen immediately as her face went beet red. Just then, she heard the door open. "Ariel? The poetry texts have been a little baroque. I'm not sure exactly what has been going on, but..."

By this point, Catherine was already on her feet and rushing out to the foyer, and there, Laon stopped. "Cathy?" He sounded as though he could not quite believe his eyes.

Catherine wasn't sure she could believe hers, either. He was the same bother she remembered, from real life and the half-second glimpse of a painting on her phone, but somehow different. He wore a tight Christmas sweater that, though a far cry from the shirtless confabulation she'd just seen, still accentuated his lean but muscular form in the same ways. But he now had a scraggly beard, and his eyes looked sunken, haunted. Maybe it was just that he didn't look delighted to see her like he always had before. "Hi..." she said, feeling stupid. Years apart, and she says _'hi.'_

"It can't be..." Laon said. "This is more faerie illusion shit."

"No, Laon, it's me. Your sister."

He shook his head. "Mab promised me her protection. No temptation by any shadows. She may do what she wants with me, but by the Queen's Law... _this_ is off limits." He spoke to the air, as though to an invisible audience. "Or is this _your_ doing? Your word means nothing, even on the holidays?" 

_What was he talking about?_ Cathy could only assume it had to do with whatever crisis of faith Ariel had alluded to. Perhaps Mab had previously deceived him, somehow. "Laon, it's _me,_ really."

"If you wish to seduce me, you won't do it as my sister on Christmas. Torment me another way."

"It's no illusion," Ariel said, startling Cathy who had forgotten she was there. "She's been here all day. Mr. Benjamin will confirm, you trust him, don't you?"

"Aye, Master," Benjamin said. "Or at least, I can confirm that she is not a fae illusion, whether she is in fact your sister, that is beyond my knowledge. But she looks the part. It is Christmas, time for family to travel and visit, would you expect less of your sister? About time."

Laon's shoulders relaxed. "It's you?" he asked. "Really?" Catherine nodded, attempted a weak smile. It looked like it was about to be returned, but then faded. "You shouldn't have come."

"I wanted to see you. And I'm an adult, I can make my own choices."

"You made the wrong one," he said. "I mean it, Cathy, I'm glad to see you, but... you shouldn't have come. You'll have to go back. Next boat out."

"You should let her stay for Christmas," Ariel suggested. "Mr. Benjamin's right, Christmas is for family, and all that. Those of you who have family should enjoy it with them. Mab's promise, her protection, it holds... so it's not like she's in _real_ danger..." Laon considered it. She'd seen that look before, when they were kids. It was the look that meant she could convince him into doing something he thought he probably shouldn't let her get away with. 

"I've salted everything I've eaten or drank," Catherine said. "I've followed all the rules, even gone through the State Department's _Safe Faerie Tourism_ course." Laon rolled his eyes at that, saying without saying how little he thought of that. So she didn't add that she'd also, since Laon first went away, watched almost any TV or movie she could find set in Arcadia or with major faerie characters. There weren't too many of these, thanks to the widespread superstition that portrayals too far off, or too close to, the mark attracted faerie attention, and most of what she did find were filled with propaganda, aimed at dissuading children from dealing with them at all, or demonizing changelings, but over the years, a few here and there attempted to halfway-seriously portray faerie-folk encounters and seemed like they contained useful information about how to deal with them, even if their primary goal was just to tell a good story, like _Stardust_ , or _District 9_ , or even that season of _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ involving Glory, the exiled Faerie Queen. She hadn't watched any of these specifically to prepare for this trip, but rather to connect in some small way to her big brother's far away adventures, to soothe her fears, to reassure herself that if it came down to it, normal humans could win out even against their magic, just like they had in the war. Of course, Catherine was very aware that, like Arcadian food you had to take anything from Hollywood with more than a few grains of salt, but it was a starting point... except, if Laon had scoffed at the State Department training she certainly wasn't going to use them as evidence that she was safe to stay. Only one other thing came to mind to help her case... silly, but silly in a way that might get through to him, remind him that he really was her big brother and she was his fun sister, partner in crime, that one who knew him better than he knew himself almost. "I brought a full jug of instant Folgers. Be a shame to take it back with me when I left." As though, even in _that_ circumstance, she wouldn't leave it for him. 

That did it. His eyes softened, and he let a smile. "Okay, you're already here, so you might as well stay for Christmas. But _only_ because you brought Folgers."

***

Catherine had succeeded, but only partially... she was allowed to stay the remaining few days leading up to Christmas, and she expected she might be able to stretch it past New Year's if she was lucky (maybe even to the 5th of January, which always signaled the end of Christmas decorations back home)... and yet, as the days passed, the visit had yet to become all that she expected or even reach the outer fringes of her hopes. She had some idea that Laon might be initially resistant, but would warm to her quickly, remember when they were younger and an almost inseparable team, when they would share their problems. She remembered once them burying the shards of Dad's favorite coffee mug in the back yard together after one of them broke it... she couldn't even remember who was the guilty party, but they swore never to say and to leave Dad with the mystery. Sometimes, before he left for the Peace Corps, she would climb into Laon's bed with him... nothing inappropriate of course, they were siblings on, and both slept with pajamas, so it was no weirder than snuggling up on the couch watching a movie... but at night alone with him, his bed sometimes became a private confessional where she could whisper her worries about school or friends or even a nightmare, and receive his reassurances. Sometimes, he would do the same... not climbing using _her_ bed, of course, but taking advantage of her presence in his to talk about what was on his mind, listen to her advice, and in doing so remind her that even someone as perfect as him had troubles. 

That was _then_ , though... here, the gulf she'd never really noticed at the time had grown, and such easy confidences seemed impossible now. There were occasional moments that gave her hope, genuine smiles, laughs at old inside jokes, reminiscing about their shared history, but they were sporadic, and whatever mood he was in tended to swallow them up before long. She'd tried to talk to him about what was clearly bothering him, but he was even more reticent than Ariel... and at least _she_ had the courtesy to admit that she wasn't going to tell Catherine something big. Laon denied there was a problem, claimed he was just 'busy' with trying to advocate Mab change her rules on something or other, and, mostly, seemed to try and find excuses to avoid her. He might join them at meals (but not always), or she might see him at morning coffee (usually), but he resisted her efforts to get him to take time off, to explore Arcadia with him... save for one lovely morning. 

A few days in, he did finally give a little and consented to take her sledding for a few hours. There she discovered that the snow that had surrounded her her entire visit wasn't actually snow, but rather the most delicate of white feathers, cold only by virtue of the outside temperature. This was fine for sledding, though fell short in another way, the feathers would not clump together to form a good snowball... she had wanted to instigate a playful fight of the kind that had frequently marked their childhoods. Still, Cathy found it amazing how you could be surrounded by something and only realize you were missing something big and obvious when you investigated closer. Her discovery of the nature of Arcadian snow at first delighted Laon but somehow sent him into a dark mood and he soon decided they should return, warning that Not-Hungry-Bears were known in these parts. These, she thought was a joke, especially after he explained that they were called that because they were stuffed... the beasts were literally giant plush teddy bears that acted like real bears and did not eat but might still maul unwary travellers. He joined her laugh at the ridiculous of it all, then said, "No, but _seriously,_ we should get inside," claiming he wasn't sure how far off the grounds Mab's protection extended. 

Mostly, she spent her time with Ariel. The changeling woman seemed profoundly lonely, although she never outright said it and indeed acted like nothing bothered her. She told stories about Ariel Davenport's family (that is, the family of the non-changeling girl... that she was raised by them did not deter her from the conviction that they were not _her_ family, but rather belonged to the _real_ Ariel, whatever her mysterious fate) and denied missing them. She told stories of her military career, which included the discovery of her nature, as she, with her unit, were lost in Arcadia without support, trying still to accomplish their mission, dropping one by one because their MREF (Meals Ready-To-Eat, Fairyland, with salt pre-added) proved to be untrustworthy, and many choosing starvation rather than permanent exile to Arcadia (and the other effects that came with violating the salt rules, which could include violent insanity and vulnerability to faerie magics, which might well be related). Ariel, though, was coping better than most, and finally discovered that even though she'd done it all her life, she simply didn't _need_ to eat. One of the few clear signs, back then, of a changeling. Soon her unit noticed too, accused her, and these people, friends, brothers, all turned on her, even tried to kill her before she escaped. She told stories of hiding out, from fae and human alike, until she learned the conflicts was over, reaching a newly developed embassy only to find that no country would take her back now that she'd been revealed, writing letters to people she knew and getting no reply, except one, when Ariel Davenport's father wrote back coldly rejecting her as an unholy abomination. She told the stories as though they were an interesting anecdotes and not the unravelling of her entire life, and that they didn't bother her (even cheerfully agreeing with Ariel's father that she _was_ an unholy abomination). Yet, for all that, she seemed to cling to her humanity, save changing her accent (her stories revealed that she was really from Alabama but she took up the accent to fit in while she was hiding, and kept it for a 'fresh start'). She kept up on news from the non-Faelands, and ate when she could, though she didn't have to eat at all... just, made it a rule to never eat something unsalted by human hands. It was as though, despite her claims, she was still hoping to one day be allowed to return to Ariel Davenport's life. Catherine wasn't sure if that was the case, or if changelings really did have completely different emotions that were mere shadows of real ones... but she felt sorry for the girl, and at the same time enjoyed her company, even if just because she was denied the company, the closeness, she really craved.

So first days of her visit had not felt particularly festive, despite Mr. Benjamin's unchanging Santa outfit, progressive decoration of the house and grounds, and frequent questions to Catherine about what would make things 'even Christmassier,' as though she was the unacknowledged expert on the holiday. Which, perhaps she was, as he seemed to think there needed to be a fully-decorated Christmas tree in every room. But she let him have his fun, since it seemed to be the only thing to give the small little man genuine joy. Once, Mr. Benjamin asked if they would prefer to eat their big turkey dinner that evening, on Christmas Day, or both, and he seemed so disappointed with her selection of Christmas Day, rather than both. That was the way their father always did it, but in order to wipe the look off his face she suggested Christmas cookies and drinks, which made him smile, and inspired her further to suggest a theme, a Victorian Christmas, an idea which practically made him glow with happiness, despite the fact that he had very limited idea of what Victorian Christmases entailed. That turned out to require even more advice from her at regular intervals, even if she usually wound up just agreeing with whatever he suggested even if it didn't really fit the era as she understood it. Still, being kept busy with his questions, combined with the weird swinging of the pendulum sun, which meant the sky never darkened past a murky twilight and it would brighten, darken, and brighten several times in one day, meant she swiftly lost track of time and didn't even realize it was the morning of Christmas Eve day until the gifts arrived. 

On that morning Catherine was in her bedroom, one of several guest bedrooms in the house, looking at the pictures on her phone... the paintings that were spontaneously generated when a picture was taken or transmitted here. After that discovery, she'd gotten into the morbid habit of sending old pictures, stored in the phone's memory, to herself and watching what came about... even though it was sometimes disturbing or painful, she couldn't shake the feeling that the revised images were revelatory in the same way dreams could be. That picture of Laon started it, when she looked at it later and realized that the only thing he was wearing was the _exact_ same scarlet bow she'd cornily taped to his shoulder years ago... for the magics of Arcadia to include that detail meant they had to have tapped into _something_. 

Not all of the interpreted pictures were as shockingly lewd at the first she saw... often they were dull, or echoed some classical piece of art, and maybe one in three contained something she could interpret as meaningful, even if she couldn't quite determine what the meaning _was_. The same strange, very pale woman with hair of white gold and brown appeared in several of these, that started as old pictures of her brother alone. Once interpreted, Laon was there too... but with him was a woman Catherine had never met... in some they appeared to be dancing, others reclining like lovers... in one particularly disturbing one, he looked like he was on bended knee to propose. 

It was this last Catherine was staring at, not for the first time, when she heard the bell at the front door ring, the first time it had happened her entire visit. She wasn't yet dressed for the day, but, curious, she rushed to the window, having to squeeze past the real pine needles and silver tinsel of the tree Benjamin had installed in her bedroom a few days ago, to see if there was a car. There wasn't, but a few moments later, she saw a gaunt black-cloaked figure walk back down the steps... and take flight into the air with wings that sprouted with shocking speed. Whoever it was, they didn't stay long. 

She got herself presentable and came downstairs, to see Ariel digging through a red velvet sack trimmed with white. "Who was that?" she asked. "At the door."

Ariel looked up, pulling a sheet of paper from the bag. "Mail drop. We got a supply package from the mainland... and some Christmas gifts from the Pale Queen." She seemed in a cheery spirits, her face alight as though she just got some good news. Maybe it was in the paper, which she tucked into the waistband of her pants, then went back into the sack and came back with envelopes. "Here, these are for your brother." When Catherine took them, Ariel added, "Don't take too long getting back. I'm really looking forward to some good coffee and I'm going to need you to salt it." 

Her brother almost didn't show himself when she came up with his mail. It had happened before... some mornings he would be up before her, and others he lingered, answering in monosyllables if at all, and through the door rather than facing her. Drinking heavily the night before was her assumption, one of many things lately that had worried her but she hadn't brought up. Not that she had a problem with drinking... most everybody drank, but the solitude and excess made her think he was numbing some kind of pain that she wished she could somehow help with. She spoke through the door, and he asked her to leave the letters just outside, and she was going to leave when she decided to mention the other thing. "Oh, and we got some Christmas gifts... from the Pale Queen?" She did her best to sound impressed... after all, a monarch of the Faelands didn't send _everyone_ gifts. Perhaps if nothing else he could be proud of that.

Instead, there was the sound of stumbling and seconds later he opened the door, shirtless and in pajama bottoms, hair a mess, and yes, eyes bloodshot. It was the least composed she'd ever seen him. "Cathy, this is important. Don't open any of her gifts, okay? Stay well away from even the packaging, in fact." She nodded, looking him over, and in her head worry competed with the observation that his shirtless body did indeed seem to match the photo-painting that still lingered undeleted on her phone, in _every_ detail. 

"I won't touch them," she said. "I promise." He breathed out then, muscles relaxing, calmer, and she added. "Ariel's making a pot of coffee, and I'm sure Mr. Benjamin's bringing us something for breakfast. If you feel up to it."

"I could probably use a coffee," he admitted. "But... I need some time to get myself together. And I should probably take care of these." He took the letters from Catherine's hand, then stopped and rubbed his chin. "I should probably shave, too. It's Christmas Eve, after all." Dad always made Laon shave for the holidays. 

"I'll make sure to save you a cup, then." She smiled at him, pretending her worries didn't exist, and allowed him to close the door.

Downstairs, the coffee was ready, and Ariel had a cup already prepared and in her hands, unsipped, but not out of politeness. The woman needed her coffee fix _bad_. Catherine sighed. "Where's the salt?"

Ariel pointed. "I should probably warn you, _this_ is different than you're used to. This is Maxwell House." At least, that's what Catherine _thought_ she said, although she was suffering from her own caffeine withdrawal and wasn't paying attention except to note that it sounded like Ariel was coming down with a cold. "You might want to wait for the Folgers. It's just... I really could use a change-up, especially on a day like today. I don't do well around the holidays. In fact, I might just stay over in Cinnamon tonight, ride out the buzz somewhere fun."

Catherine nodded sympathetically. Holidays were always hardest on her, as well, after dad passed and Laon was still away. She could only imagine how it felt when everyone you ever knew rejected you for something you had no control over. "You're always welcome here for Christmas dinner," she said, reaching for the pot. "But I understand." Ariel's eyes watched very carefully as Catherine poured her own cup of coffee. 

"It's just... that might be a little bit of a more _potent_ brew than you're ready for," she said as Catherine reached for the salt. "There's an extra empty pot, you know. If you give me five minutes, I can brew you up some Folgers instead."

She mentally rolled her eyes. As though she'd never _tried_ strong coffee, as if she needed it to be her favorite brand or she'd throw a _tantrum._ She couldn't remember off-hand how strong Maxwell House was but... it was instant coffee, how powerful, how different could it _be_? "It's fine. I'm not a child, Ariel, I can handle it. I could use something a little stronger today myself." 

Safely salted, she took one last look at the dark brew, then took a big gulp. She was wrong, it _was_ powerful, was _different_. In fact, it tasted _heavenly_. Warm, rich, and with no aftertaste, even with the salt it was perfectly balanced. She swallowed, opened her eyes, saw Ariel's, wide as anything. "Hey, this is good," she said. "It tastes..." And she stopped, because she couldn't remember exactly _how_ it tasted. She knew she liked it, but couldn't recreate it, even a shadow of it, in her memory, all she could do was take another sip to experience it again. Yes, incredible. 

And then gone again, the moment she swallowed. Ariel still stared, but then suddenly relaxed, a small, perhaps sad, smile on her face. "I guess... well, I guess _that's_ done then. The Pale Queen told me to make sure you tried some, but I thought you'd need a little more convincing." 

At this, Catherine's blood ran cold. "Why would the Faerie Queen care what brand of coffee I drink?"

And somehow, she already knew, but it wasn't real until Ariel said it. "It's her own special blend, she's quite proud of it. You did know that's _Arcadian_ coffee, didn't you?"

If she had any left in her mouth she'd have spit it out. Even now, dumping the cup seemed difficult to contemplate, she wanted to chase that memory of taste again. "You said it was Maxwell House!"

"No..." Ariel said, and then laughed, covered her face. "Oh, dear, this is embarrassing. I said it was Mab's Well-House Coffee." This time, Ariel enunciated each part of the word clearly, to show the distinction. "She named it that because the beans grow by a building on one of her estates, that houses a wishing well." She shook her head, looked towards the ceiling. "Yes, I see now how that _could_ be confusing."

Catherine reached out with one hand to Ariel's shoulder. "What does it do?" Transform her? Lock her in Arcadia despite the salt? 

Ariel shook herself free, but Catherine noticed she would not meet her eyes. "Relax, Cathy."

"Catherine," she specified. Only close friends, and Laon, could call her Cathy, and she did not feel like Ariel was a friend right now. "What does it _do_?"

"I wouldn't have offered you anything that could seriously _harm_ you. Nor would Mab, while Laon is under her protection. You're blood, so you're covered too. It's _coffee._ It's a stimulant." She took a sip of her own. "What _exactly_ it stimulates depends on your nature. For the fae, it stimulates their magical abilities, their artistic eye... sharpens it to a fine edge." Fine edges could be deadly. "For changelings like me, it's a mild hallucinogen and aphrodisiac. A little like Ecstasy but stronger. Don't worry, I expect to be well in a Faerie Dance Hall in Cinnamon before it kicks in."

"And for humans?" 

She smiled. "Barely anything at all. Bravery, maybe. A little impulsiveness. You might find yourself chasing a few old dreams, jumping to a few conclusions. Relax. Last time Laon tried it, he decided to surprise you with a visit home. It's not that serious, I promise." She shrugged. "Assuming you're human, at least. If not, come find me in the dance halls maybe, we'll celebrate. Don't worry, the effects only last one complete pendulum swing, with a strong peak in the middle... so you should be fine on Christmas morning." As Catherine gazed back into the cup, she added, "You might as well finish the cup. Shame to waste good fae coffee." As if to emphasize this, Ariel began pouring most of the rest of the pot into a military style thermos. Perhaps she wanted her high to last longer than Christmas, or maybe the effects on changelings got more powerful the more you drank. Maybe she just wanted to share with others. "Anyway, ta-ta, Merry Christmas and all that.."

She left then, as though what had happened was nothing. Maybe it was. She didn't feel particularly different yet, aside from a formless dread for what might be about to happen. Catherine finished the cup, to get one last sense of that ephemeral taste, and then it was gone. She pulled the pot out of the machine, intending to wash it and make a fresh one, but her hands were shaking too much, that she feared she'd drop and smash it. After Ariel filled her thermos, there was only a thin film of liquid left inside the pot anyway so she just left it in the sink so Laon would know to make a fresh one, and then she retired to her room, waiting to become brave, fearing what bravery might make her do.

After a couple hours in, she began to wonder if the coffee was having _any_ effect at all. She didn't _feel_ any braver, or any different at all. Perhaps this was all a joke of Ariel's... the coffee hadn't tasted _that_ remarkable, had it? Maybe a little like chocolate? She couldn't really remember. Maybe it was just ordinary coffee. Or maybe Arcadian coffee didn't do very much to humans, a placebo effect if anything. 

A knock at her door startled her, and she hoped that it was Laon, but instead it was kindly Mr. Benjamin, who had a long dress in her hands. "A Victorian dress for a Victorian Christmas," he said. "Special made from one who knows." She thanked him, but had no intention of trying on the dress... until she did, minutes after he left. She'd always liked Victorian stylings, the clothes and the pageantry, especially when she was a teenager, maybe these were the old dreams Ariel mentioned.

The material was white, silky, banded in a bold and silver brocade pattern, and a columnar skirt. It was relatively modest as she's come to expect of Victorian styles, with sleeves and a a high neck top and a lot of layers, feeling at once at once overwhelmingly heavy and complicated, and ephemeral. She had to see herself in it, at least once... it would be like stepping into a faerie tale, and reminded her a little of the ball gown from the movie _Labyrinth_... the design was different, more old-fashioned, more neck coverage, but it definitely evoked some of the same feel. Which could well be intentional, Ariel swore that it was that movie, and in particular David Bowie's prominent... performance that caused the Fae to take a more active interest in the human world again, which eventually led to the conflict whose aftermath brought Laon here. Perhaps whatever faerie tailor who made it was a fan. Regardless, it was lovely, and it seemed to glitter, with an otherworldly light. She laughed and wondered why Ariel bothered to take hallucinogens here... in Arcadia, how could you tell the difference?

It looked impossible to put on alone, and yet, somehow she managed to without tearing it... it seemed like it could be torn easily, but she did feel _something_ wearing it. For a change, at least, it might be fun to be fancy. 

She ran into Laon that afternoon. First, confident that the Arcadian coffee was having no effect on her, she came out of her room to find it gently snowing in the upstairs hall. She laughed, grabbed for the feathers, only to find that they melted... not feathers at all, this was actual snow. It was dreamlike, but she did remember wishing for some real snow and assumed Mr. Benjamin had somehow turned the requests into impractical action.

A few minutes later, she went to put Laon's present under the tree, and when she turned she saw him coming down the stairs. She might have been embarrassed to be walking about the house in a super fancy dress like something out of the 19th century... if he wasn't also dressed up like he was in a period piece. Laon wore a sleek black doublet and cape that made him look, to Cathy like the cover model of some steamy romance novel. _He has the raw looks for that_ , she thought, that ruggedly handsome--and now clean-shaven--face that still suggested sensitivity and some deep wound... yes, she could see it. She wasn't sure the outfit fit into a Victorian Christmas theme... Victorian, maybe, but not particularly Christmassy, but she had already resolved not to question Mr. Benjamin's choices.

She expected Laon to say something about the indoor snow he must have walked through to get to the stairs, but he didn't, it was like he hadn't noticed it, and it didn't seem to cling to his cape... what he had noticed was _her_. Laon stopped when he saw her, looked her up and down, far longer than she'd ever expected. "Cathy you look... you look _beautiful_." Her head dipped in response, fighting the urge to blush... it was weird, he so rarely commented on her appearance, and it felt damn good that he found it pleasing. 

Impulsively, she spinned. "Mr. Benjamin is to blame I guess. You look quite dashing yourself." 

He shrugged, and they stood awkwardly, no longer sure what to say. "So, join me for coffee?" 

***

In the kitchen, each of them holding a warm cup of Folgers, she sat on the counter, wanting to say something, but not sure what she said. He was here, now, and if she said the wrong thing she might push him back to his room and drinking alone. Finally, he spoke. "Ariel texted me. She said I should speak to you. At least, that's what I _think_ the text said. I never was good at interpreting poetry." He shook his head as though to clear it. "I know I haven't told you everything about my time here. It's been... hard for me. Harder than I've let on." She waited, excitement rising, as she held the cup to her body, feeling condensation against her breast. Was this it? Was he finally opening up? Her heart began to thump, staring at her brother's face, his strong chin, his soft lips only falling short of perfection because they lacked a smile. "A few years ago, I discovered something... a tremendous lie... something I'm not sure I can tell you. But it made me rethink my time here, and... uh, Cathy?" He stopped. "Is your dress.... _melting_?" 

She looked down at herself, realizing belatedly that condensation didn't form on hot drinks, that what she was feeling was the chest piece of her dress starting to drip, melt... what was once a modest high-necked chemise now had a mug-sized hole over her chest. Her dress was indeed melting where the warmth hit it. "Oh shit," she said, and moved to cover herself, noticing that although the melt was most intense where she held the cup, the skirt was slowly melting as well, and getting thinner all over. 

That wasn't the only thing she noticed. Her brother stared, his gaze seeming almost hungry. Her brother seemed to be staring at her body... and she _liked_ it, felt powerful, beautiful, wanted to let him look, let the dress melt away from her and....

"Oh, _shit_ ," she said again. Ariel had said _'aphrodisiac'_ hadn't she?

"We can fix this," Laon said. "I mean... it's not happening too fast... I definitely think we should get the dress off you. I mean, maybe you should go change... but you don't have to rush. If you just stay away from anything warm it should last..."

 _He's warm,_ she thought and then winced at the intrusive thought, what it meant. "What you were saying, you learned something. Something big. Something that changed everything." He stopped, looked her in the eyes, forgetting for a moment the dress, then nodded. "I think I know already."

He drew back. "Ariel told you?"

"I figured it out. I'm not actually your sister. I'm a changeling."

This time, Laon laughed a little. "What?" So that wasn't what he was going to tell her. Still, it made sense. Now her heart broke a little to have to tell him, and yet... and _yet_...

"I'm on Arcadian coffee. It does different things if you're a changeling. I've already started hallucinating." The snow in the upstairs hall that Laon didn't find worthy of comment, or, more logically, didn't notice because it wasn't there. The gleam in his eyes when he looked at her in her disintegrating dress. The dress _itself_ , perhaps. No, Laon saw that too... unless, of course, _he_ was a hallucination. Yes, _that_ was it. He wasn't even _here_. The dress, it looked _too_ good on her to be reality, she could never actually look _that_ good in a dress, never look good enough that Laon would look at her in that way. She was probably still lying in her room, _tripping balls_ as Ariel would say, and dreaming this encounter, dreaming he would open up to her with his problems. 

She started to cry. For even if what she was experiencing _wasn't_ real, then it proved her _revelation_ was real. She was hallucinating. Ariel said that happens only for changelings. The coffee wouldn't be a problem... " _if_ you're human," said. Maybe she knew. Maybe she just suspected. It explained everything... feelings Cathy had had since she was young, not quite fitting in, feeling not-quite-sisterly feelings for Laon. And how she made it to Arcadia so easily. Her government _did_ that, she remembered... they wouldn't banish changelings, wouldn't _force_ anyone to undergo the screenings... but they _would_ let suspected changelings leave, and not let them come back unless they tested as a true human. Laon did... he came home once, but she _wouldn't_. But then, that didn't matter either... if she _was_ Cathy Helstone's changeling, then the salt she had sprinkled on her food was not sufficient. She didn't have human hands. She was stuck in Arcadia forever.

Maybe that might not be so bad, if she was with Laon. If he hadn't already found the real Catherine Helstone and was trying to rescue her. If he didn't decide to leave her changeling ass a world away, abandoning her again, this time with her on the Faerie side. 

The hallucination of Catherine Helstone's brother rushed forward to wipe away the tears. "I'm sure it's a mistake. It's just a mistake." And she could feel his closeness, craved it.  
It's also an aphrodisiac, she remembered Ariel saying again. She leaned forward, kissed him, a _real_ kiss, on the lips, pressing herself against him. And he kissed her back, for a moment, then drew away. "What are you doing?"

She slid off the counter entirely, stepped forward. "It's _okay,_ because I'm a _changeling_. It doesn't _mean_ anything. I'm not _really_ your sister." _And you're a hallucination anyway,_ she added privately. But if he was a hallucination, why not indulge? It was no worse than a dirty dream. She kissed him again. "I want you. I think I've _always_ wanted you, I just never thought I could _have_ you, and now... now the one thing that could make this revelation worthwhile is that I get to live my dream." Another kiss. "Let me have you, Laon, just for tonight."

She pressed against him again, kissed, and this time he kissed back, pushing her into the countertop which she felt in the small of her back. That wasn't the only thing she felt, a warmth against her body that threatened to melt even more of her dress... but for that part, she might not be needing much of it anyway. "Oh, Cathy..." her false name still sounded like a prayer from his lips. And one last pulling away, making her want to moan in frustration. "You're my sister."

Her whole body began to tremble. "No, I'm not. I'm not and I never will be again. Why can't I have the _one_ good thing that goes with it?" She turned then, ran, up the stairs to go cry in her room, or her hallucinatory room, where maybe she could wake up from the dream. She crossed the hallucinatory snowfall and was at her door when she realized Laon had followed her, held the door closed before she could escape, until she stopped trying and looked at him. 

"You're my sister," he repeated. "Even if you _are_ a changeling,and I don't _think_ you are... I grew up with _you_. You don't know how many times I've dreamed of a night like this, but it's wrong." He shook his head, rueful, like he really had always loved her. _Of course, that's exactly what a hallucination would say_. The real Laon would reject her. Catherine Helstone's brother _certainly_ would. "I came to Arcadia so I wouldn't do anything, so I wouldn't harm you with my... feelings." 

"You're not harming me," she said, taking his hand in hers, and pulling it to her breast, to melt the dress even more.. "I want this. Please. I'd want you if you really were my brother, I'd just never have the courage to say it."

"You're still my sister," he said again, but it rang false, and his hand still on her breast. 

"One night," she said. "If you do hold _any_ shred of love for me, you'll give me one night, to dream, to pretend, to hold close in my changeling heart the rest of my days so I can remember what it was like to feel human. Please, Laon... be my Christmas present this year." She opened the door again, now that he wasn't stopping her, and gently pulled him with her.

He let out a half-groan, half-growl, as though wrestling with himself, his own inner demons and desires... and losing. He followed her inside. 

From there, it was only the briefest of movement to the bed, and to take off the rest of her dress which was practically a cocktail dress at this point. And she felt Laon's hands on her she never had before, suffering their lack only so she could undress him, too... after which, she openly looked at his naked body instead of furtive shameful glances at a phone, smiled, drew him towards her bed, where Laon did some _very_ unbrotherly things to her that felt better than even the Arcadian coffee tasted. 

But it was _okay_ , it was just a hallucination, a dirty dream, a very vivid one. And if not? If this _was_ really happening... so what? She was making love to _Catherine Helstone's_ brother, that's all. Was that so wrong? It wasn't her fault she and Catherine Helstone were switched, that Catherine Helstone's brother was with her, growing up with her, making her feel safe and happy. She owed a debt she could never repay to Catherine Helstone, but what benefit did it do to her to stay away from Laon... it's not like she would want to make love to him. The real Catherine Helstone was Laon's sister. _That_ would be wrong.

After a frenzy of activity, they lay together, exhausted, and fell asleep. She woke with a smile, turned, saw Laon in bed beside her, naked, turned away, then thought to herself, _the best part of waking up under the pendulum sun... is definitely Laon's cute butt in my bed._ It didn't go with the jingle, but it held a truth all the same. 

It then occurred to her that this was a very _long_ , very _continuous_ hallucination. Yet there was no fear or disappointment. If it had happened, it had happened. Maybe it was even better if it was real... then it could happen _again_. Laon turned towards her, and she gazed upon his face in the dim twilight until his own eyes opened. "I love you," he said. 

"I love you too."

"I mean it," he said. "I love you. You said one night, but... I don't want this to be one night. I want it to be forever." She felt her face might crack with the force of her sudden, fierce smile. "But I'm afraid you're going to fade away, like mist. Another lie of Arcadia."

That was right, he'd said there was a tremendous lie he'd discovered. "What was the first one?"

He took a breath, and took his time, but eventually the story came out, the discovery that his entire Peace Corps career was an illusion, and the US Government knowing participants, in some way. There _was_ a war, but it hadn't gone the way everyone believed, the US didn't force the Pale Queen to capitulate . The bombers, loaded with every modern instrument, never even reached Arcadia... you have to be lost to find Arcadia, and self-guided bombs could never be lost. What damage the ground troops did was minimal, correctable with a few magic words. They reached a treaty in another way, the terms he never quite figured out, although he had guesses it involved faerie intelligence about Middle Eastern countries. But, as part of the deal, the Pale Queen pretended the US had been victorious, had all her subjects play along, pretend to be living in bombed out villages and needing help getting back on their feet. She didn't do this because she _had_ to, she did it because she thought it was _fun_ , a grand lark. Laon had come to Arcadia with dreams of making up for his shameful feelings by doing some real good, only to learn, years later, that he was participating in a massive play.

When Queen Mab got tired of the ruse and the charity of the well-meaning humans who kept visiting, she kicked all the NGOs, save the Christian Human Rights Mission, who asked to stay because, whatever the true condition of Arcadia's native population, the stranded humans and changelings did suffer at her whims, and they had hopes to convince the Queen to adopt human rights reforms and perhaps even convince her to convert to Christianity. This prospect amused Mab and she granted the request. Laon, desperate to salvage something of his time, and still worried he might somehow expose his true feelings back home, agreed to join, and eventually came to lead the mission, in part because Queen Mab found him especially amusing. 

_Come back home with me,_ Catherine was about to say, only to remember that she was _not_ Catherine, and that therefore she was among those troubled changelings who could never leave. "It's _still_ a noble mission. Maybe you can do some good for the changelings, if nothing else." He didn't seem convinced. "At the very least, you could do a world of good for _this_ changeling. And I'm not going anywhere." She leaned in to nibble his ear, and it forced a smile, and one smile begat another, and soon they were making love again. 

They spent virtually the rest of the day in her room, with breaks, Laon retreating to the kitchen a few times in brief excursions to bring up some snacks, usually Mr. Benjamin's Christmas cookies. He redundantly salted everything for her as well as himself, as though it could undo the damage from the meals salted by her own unhuman hands... she almost wished he left the salt out of his own, instead, so he would be bound here forever too, with her but she wasn't that selfish. She'd already been given more than she'd dreamed, and he seemed amenable to staying in Arcadia for now... perhaps until he inevitably grew tired of her, but she would do her best to keep him entertained and stretch out the time as long as possible. Maybe Ariel knew some secret changeling sex tricks.

Christmas morning she got up early, hungry... really hungry. But then, she'd had a lot of exercise and had eaten mostly cookies for the past day. She wondered when the changeling lack of need for food would kick in, if she would simply stop feeling the pangs after a short time, but decided she might as well eat and get something for Laon when he woke as well. So, she dressed, and left her room, kissing Catherine Helstone's brother on the forehead but otherwise leaving him to sleep, and then writing a quick note that she was downstairs, wanting to spare him the fear that she had, in fact, disappeared. She had come to terms with the fact that she had not hallucinated all the sex, at least. It had gone on too long, was too consistent. But that was okay, it meant Laon really did tell her he loved her, that he wanted to be with her. 

She tiptoed downstairs, only to hear Ariel Davenport speaking, not in her usual English accent but with what must have been closer to her original. "At least it's finally cleaned up. I mean seriously, what were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry Miss Davenport," came Mr. Benjamin's reply. 

Catherine took a breath. Sex tricks would have to wait. She owed the woman a lot, and very soon, that meant the truth. She was going to tell her, if she didn't already know, that the salt she'd been sprinkling had no effect. 

"Merry Christmas, Miss Helstone," Mr. Benjamin said upon seeing her enter the kitchen. 

"Oh, good, you're here. I could use a coffee. Oh, and right, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she said and looked between them, needing a little time before her confession. "Is something wrong? I heard you arguing."

"Oh, it's nothing," Ariel said. "It's just about Mr. Benjamin's dumb idea to hire someone to have it snow in the hallway."

"That was real?" she asked, and then suddenly remembered Laon joking, late last night after returning with more cookies, about having to get up and shovel the snow in the morning. She hadn't thought about it at the time, but... he must have seen it too. 

Ariel laughed. "Of _course_ it was real. What did you think it wasn't?" Catherine shrugged. "I told you, only changelings hallucinate on faerie coffee."

Catherine froze. Only changelings hallucinate. And she was a changeling wasn't she? Except... if her night with Laon was real, and you removed the snow, she wasn't sure there _was_ anything else that she had seen yesterday that hadn't been real. And then there was the ravenous hunger from missing out on almost a full day of meals except for Laon's cookie deliveries. 

How did the coffee affect humans? She remembered now. Impulsive. Jumping to conclusions. Chase long-forgotten or, maybe, never-admitted dreams. Like being with her brother. _Her_ brother. 

_Oh, shit_ , she thought, again. _This could get complicated._

"So, speaking of which, my night was kind of a bust so I thought I'd take you up on your offer to spend Christmas here. But how did you like _your_ first experience with Arcadian coffee?" A distinctly predatory smile crossed her face, making Catherine wonder if she knew what had really happened. She might have come home sometime last night and heard things, or perhaps this was the plan all along. Mab had wanted her to try the coffee. Maybe faerie games were subtle and complicated. 

On the other hand, it didn't _have_ to be complicated. She wasn't sure if it was true, and she wasn't yet sure she _wanted_ to know yet. If Ariel was in on it, she wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. She had a lifetime of practice pretending to be normal... and now she might have a partner in Laon. So she shrugged. "It was fine. But I think it might be best if we stick to Folgers from now on."

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this entire thing in a few days, when, in the week before Christmas, I had the realization that Under the Pendulum Sun had a natural hook as a Folgerscest AU. In the Folgers commercial, the Brother is returning from a term in the Peace Corps in 'West Africa', and in the novel, Catherine's brother is a missionary in Fairyland. In both, we have the idea that the reason for their mission far from home was because they were trying to get away from their 'unnatural' feelings towards their sister (I mean obviously it's not explicit in the Folgers commercial but it's what we see with the shipping fan goggles). So, I thought, what if, before her going to find him, he returned to visit and did the whole Folgers commercial? It had to be done in a modern AU form because I just don't think I have the chops to do the full Victorian setting, but that provided some fun worldbuilding challenges anyway. I instantly had the idea of Faerie coffee playing a role, and then of building the plot around basically three main coffee scenes - one remaking the Folgers commercial with the whole context of him being away in Fairyland, the second between Cathy and Ariel as she learns about changelings and, at the end, is reunited with her brother, and finally when she accidentally drinks faerie coffee and becomes convinced she's a changeling, which gives her license to act on the feelings she barely admitted to herself. (Though I guess there are five coffee scenes all in all if you include the one with Laon where he actually makes his move and the one at the end where she realizes her mistake, the intention was three). 
> 
> So I wrote this with a whirl of activity, and on a deadline, since I wanted to get it out before Christmas. Any imperfections I blame on that. Even the ones that I would have made anyway. Totally just because I rushed. However, I was spurred on partly by another AO3 author who was playing with their own take on this Folgercest crossover (not as a modern AU though) and we had a lot of fun bouncing ideas off each other and you should check out [their version here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927649).
> 
> Since Laon wasn't actually a missionary, I did away with much of the religious analysis underpinnings of the plot... another area I'm not particularly good at and the novel did it well anyway, so I decided that though he was a Christian and that probably influenced some of his decisions, it was a more general human rights mission and Laon's crisis was about that all being for nothing. I also changed a few of the names for more of a Christmassy vibe (Gethsemane becomes Bethlehem, Sesame becomes Cinnamon), which also allows me to imagine in this AU it takes place in a different location in Fairyland so any differences in the pendulum sun's particular pattern (which I found myself having to be extremely vague about, as much as I'd like to include it more I just couldn't grok exactly what the light levels would be at any particular time) might be explained partly by that. Oh, and I made all of them (I mean aside from the Fae-folk) American, because it's the culture I can most easily write for some reason.


End file.
